Paralysis
by StarCatBurning
Summary: Because nothing will ever be the same. Ever.


Paralysis

The doctor said it was polio.

But it was everything in the universe and it wasn't; it was heavy as stones and light as mist, filling Makoto's life in an instant, and draining everything out of the chambers of his heart at the same time, and now nothing would be the same, and nothing would ever be the same.

Ever.

**I**

Spring is still a little too cold to be out swimming, and he tells Haru this, but Haru just ignores him, true to fashion. He'd probably crawl the two kilometres to the swimming pool even if Makoto stashed his wheelchair on top of the cupboard.

The biting fingers of winter still haven't completely subsided, and Coach Sasabe is going to tell them both off, when (Makoto prefers to think 'if') he finds out, but it's wonderful to be looking at the sky like this, just floating in a pool of cherry blossoms, and Makoto is enjoying the moment as much as Haru is. They slip into the water with hardly a ripple, Makoto sitting Haru on the edge, and then stretching out his hand to help Haru down. The almost-absurdity hits him then, how their motions are reversed, how where he used to pull Haru out of the water he now has to pull Haru _in_.

It doesn't mean Haru has stopped loving swimming. On the contrary, it means that he loves swimming more than ever.

_Makoto once caught Haru sleeping in the bathtub, a week after the diagnosis, and when Makoto finally got Haru out his skin was more wrinkly than a prune, and his legs had cramped into place like frozen crabsticks. His fingers _were_ crabsticks to the touch, slightly blue at the tips, and Haru had said nothing, in the air of a guilty child, while Makoto dried him off and dressed him and put him to bed._

_Makoto might as well _live_ in Haru's house, the amount of time he spends there._

In the water Haru's legs look a little less thin and emancipated, his back straighter (or is it just a trick of the light?), and for a while he really does look as though he is completely free, healed by the water; the deep water; the blue water.

Then the moment passes, and Haru starts to sink, because one can't float with a back cramped like a shrimp, and legs useless as cut-off octopus tentacles (heck, even octopus tentacles had more life than that.)

Makoto supports Haru's back with gentle hands, relishing the fact that Haru doesn't struggle against the water to try not to sink, marvels in Haru's perfect confidence in him, and guides Haru through the water.

The water has lost its sting now, as if when Haru was tamed, the water had similarly been shredded of its fangs as well.

Haru has become a real fish now, as if someone took a DVD of _The Little Mermaid_ and played it backwards, and Makoto cannot ever imagine what it must be like to be a dolphin living in a fishbowl, staring out at the world with no means to get there.

But that's Haru. Haru, who only came alive in the pool, who now only _has_ the pool. And he has Makoto too, maybe, sometimes.

There are days when Makoto pulls Haru from the water dripping wet and slightly exhausted, and Haru leans against him, quietly breathing, and his breath is a soft rattle, atmospheric oxygen passing unabsorbed through gills. Times like this, Makoto feels threads of unspoken words slick between Haru's skin and his, almost knowing what he wants to say, only ashamed that Haru should show him this; a sight he's never seen before, a sight he doesn't want to see, yet can't run away from.

"Makoto."

"Yeah, Haru?"

"When will we get to swim in the sea again?"

The question falls flat as soon as it takes shape, and Makoto knows that Haru knows why. The answer, unspoken, drifts around their ears like cherry blossoms on the breeze.

Makoto doesn't answer, just leans back on his palms and tilts his head up. The wayward cherry blossoms continue to drift down in the breeze.

"Hey," Makoto says, after a while. "It's getting late. Why don't we go home?"

Haru turns to look at him; nods. Doesn't say anything. Makoto gets up, pulls his feet out of the water, over the edge of the pool, turns around to take Haru's hand, and stops short.

The red of the sunset glints against the surface of the still water, disturbed periodically by Haru's feet, trembling slightly with effort, and Makoto knows:

If Haru wants to see the world, Makoto will do anything to get him there.

**II**

Haru's wheelchair won't fit through the door.

It just won't. No matter how hard Makoto pushes, the wheelchair stays firmly wedged into the narrow doorframe, trapping its passenger. Makoto grunts, putting all his God-given strength into trying to move the darn thing, but it still won't budge. Blame him and his poor judgement of a wheelchair's width, then.

But he'll get there. He has to.

Visitors swarming around them take the two other equally narrow doors, but no-one thinks to stop or help them. After all, if they do, they'll be late for the show. And with tickets at that price, _nobody_ wants to miss the show.

Makoto utters some choice words quietly under his breath, brow furrowing. His eyes land on the still, subdued figure slumped into the side of the chair.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity. Haru speaks.

"That's enough, Makoto. It's all right. I can see from here."

Those words cause a burst of anger to rip through Makoto. Sure, he can make out a sliver of the pool beyond, but that isn't going to help any, not for what they're here for. Makoto glances down at his watch. One minute more.

"It's not all right, Haru! You know damn well you can't see a thing from here!"

Haru's back stiffens, trembles, jerks slightly.

He doesn't reply.

And that's when Makoto drops everything, rounds to the front of the wheelchair, scoops Haru up and _runs_.

Haru's skin is warm and satin smooth like a dolphin's, his arms still sinewy to the touch, taut, well conditioned muscles still there from _before_, but Makoto can't stop to relish the contact, can't stop his legs from moving...

_There._

In a burst of bright sun shattered into many, many frozen drops, the silhouettes of four bottlenose dolphins hang suspended against a backdrop of a stand filled with a roaring audience. Each individual crystal of water seems to hang indefinitely in the air, and the air is electric with the tension, as if those dolphins were riding on the power of the cheering crowd alone.

Makoto hears a buzzing in his ears, and his face splits involuntarily into a smile. He tears his eyes away from the spectacle to look down.

Haru is smiling, his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, his lips curving upwards, as if the light reflected in the eyes of the crowd had shone through him, filling him, and he, too, would spread his wings in a moment and take to the skies.

Makoto does not know what happens next, only remembers thinking:

_Nothing will ever be the same._

_Ever._

-END-


End file.
